


There’s No Title For This Story

by Hhhhhhh (NarcolepticPansy)



Category: Kubo and the Two Strings (2016), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Gen, My First Fanfic, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Storytelling, Unintentional therapy, a lot of subtle fourth wall breaks, for Kubo, for RotG, how will this go, it's tricky to tag but simple in concept, uh oh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:28:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27132494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NarcolepticPansy/pseuds/Hhhhhhh
Summary: Jack’s alone time is interrupted by a stranger with a story.  Unfortunately, stories from strangers have a tendency to be vague and with little meaning.  Fortunately, they are no less entertaining and enrapturing despite of it.Rarely, but sometimes, do they actually impact your life.You don’t really need to know either series to read this.  It would be nice though.  Unnecessary, but nice.  It’s not hard to figure out what’s going on regardless.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	There’s No Title For This Story

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic. Sue me. Comment if you want, I’m shy and I might not answer. Comment if you don’t want, and tell me how much you didn’t want to. I’m still shy and I might not answer. Thanks.

Sometimes, Jack wanted to be alone. As much as he loved kids and causing chaos within their ranks, there were times when he just felt the need to avoid them. And there was nothing wrong with that. A day to himself here or there wouldn’t disrupt his seasonal schedule and guardian-ly duties. Oftentimes, he would just float around and let the wind take him where it will. Tonight, he was back at the lake. His lake. It was ethereal and comforting in the glow of the moonlight. 

. . .Well now that he was here he was sort of at a loss of what to do. This was stupid. He had too many thoughts and emotions about this place to be here all alone. What was he supposed to do, just skate around for a bit? 

. . .Eh, why not. 

So with a deep inhale and exhale, Jack started moving. Picking up speed. Dancing, even. The wind was his partner and his music as he drew lines of fresh frost across the ice. He used his staff to draw thinner lines and details as he spun and was swept off his feet. It was exhilarating and helped get his heart pounding. 

What got his heart pounding even more was when he heard applause at the end of his dance. 

“Shit,” Jack yelped, jumping around to see who had snuck up on him. And there was indeed a quiet onlooker. Sitting lightly on a snow-covered rock on the lake’s shore was a boy that looked no older than 13. He wore a strange style of dress and his messy haircut covered one eye despite the use of a ponytail. That seemed counterproductive, but okay. His hair after all. 

With a slight smile, the boy spoke. “Thank you for the show, it was beautiful. Would you like one of mine in return?” 

Jack stared. The boy stared back. Jack squinted. The boy stared back. 

“You’re a spirit, aren’t you,” Jack asked. This was the only definite-probably-maybe conclusion he had gathered in the few seconds of whatever was going on here. 

“Of a sort,” was the answer. Jack scrunched his face in displeasure at the inconclusive evidence. The boy merely gave him a Look of amusement. It seemed like answers were  _ not _ going to be in abundance tonight. 

“Look, I’m not going to steal your soul or your socks or something,” the boy waved his thoughts away. He spoke slowly and clearly, not fighting with his accent in the slightest. “I just happened to be watching and I thought it was rude to witness something so private and not offer payment in return. So. Would you like to hear one of my stories?” 

Well. Nothing bad ever happened from listening to strangers, right? It’s not like Jack had any socks to be stolen anyway. 

“Alright. Let’s hear it.” 

With a pleased grin, the boy pulled out a guitar-looking instrument that definitely wasn’t there a few seconds ago from behind his back. The clearing fell silent as he tuned it slightly. Once he was done, he lifted his head and stared Jack in the eyes with a piercing look. In his own. Eye. The other was covered by an eyepatch. Oh, that explained the hair a bit. 

“If you must blink, do it now,” Jack was broken out of his thoughts for the second time that night. The boy spoke commandingly, the strum of his instrument strengthening his statement. “Pay careful attention to everything you see and hear, no matter how unusual it may seem. And please be warned, if you fidget, if you look away, if you forget any part of what I tell you, even for an instant. . .

then our hero will surely perish.” 

And with another strum and a whoosh, the clearing came to life. 

Leaves fluttered and folded themselves into shapes as the boy began a slow yet strong tempo. Snow on the ground was blown up by the wind to swirl and stream through the air. The trees creaked as if to lean in closer. Somehow, Jack found himself sitting and leaning in too. 

“Our hero is not one you might expect,” the boy stated with a wry smile. “After all, who would expect a little old lady to be capable of more than making sweet buns?” A small cluster of leaves showed how old this lady was, hunched over and with a cane in hand. She hobbled in the air to stand next to the boy. 

“But despite her looks, this lady was strong. And brave. So brave, in fact, that she always spoke her mind, damn what others might think,” he snorted. “This sometimes made her come across as senile or stupid. But she didn’t care. She was an old lady! And old ladies did whatever they wanted.” 

The leaves in the shape of the old lady nodded decisively. 

“One day, the lady noticed something was wrong in her little village.” The scene shifted around them as the snow and the leaves built themselves into cottages and a clearing the old lady tottered through. Another smaller figure stood apart from them. 

“There was a boy wandering around all alone. And the old lady being as nosy as she was, knew that no such child existed in the village yesterday. So she took it upon herself to approach him and ask him what his business was. 

The boy gave her a shy look and, instead of answering her query, asked a question of his own. 

‘Is magic outlawed here?’ he said. 

The old lady tilted her head consideringly. It was her self-appointed duty to protect the village, and magic tended to be anything but good from what she’d seen in her old age. She should have this child locked up on the spot. Though, there was nothing wrong with asking a question, she thought. And there was nothing wrong with an honest answer. ‘Depends on what you’d use it for I suppose,’ she finally responded.” 

There was a short lull before the storyteller picked right back up and kept strumming. 

“‘I want to support my mother but I don’t know how. All I have is magic and my music, and I don’t think music will help me get a job or anything.’ the boy said, looking nervous. 

‘Ah, well you’re in luck.’ she smiled.” The leaf-lady waved her hands around in dramatic emphasis. “‘You see, we’re in need of an entertainer in this here village, and a magical musician would do just fine. Tell me, are you going to sing for us?’ 

‘Well,’ the boy shifted on his feet, ‘I don’t know how to sing. But I do know how to tell a story. I just, I can’t imagine anybody would be willing to listen to me.’” The leaves curled in on themselves a little. It was actually remarkable how expressive the bunch of flora was. 

The old lady leaves shuffled closer to the boy. “‘There’s a trick, you know, to telling a story everybody will love,’ she leaned over to whisper conspiratorially to him. 

‘Really?’ Hope glimmered in his eye. 

‘Yes,’ she said strongly, ‘you just put a fire-breathing chicken in it.’”

. . .Wind whistled in the clearing. Jack gaped at the boy. The boy stared back. 

“What,” Jack deadpanned. 

“‘What,’ the boy deadpanned. 

‘What,’ the old lady deadpanned, but couldn’t keep up her imitation of the boy for long and soon cracked into a smile with a laugh. ‘Trust me. No story with a fire-breathing chicken in it has ever failed before.’ 

The boy bit his lip in consideration, but still looked extremely nervous. 

‘And if it’s people reacting to your magic you’re worried about, know that I will support you. None of these whippersnappers dare yell at me. I’m the strongest one here! At least, I am when I don’t have to open sukonbu jars,’ she added. ‘Trust me. You will be okay.’ 

. . .‘Okay,’ the boy said. He stood up straighter and faced the lady more, then took a deep breath. ‘Thank you,’ he said. 

She gave him the warmest smile he’d ever seen in return. 

With that, the boy took out several sheets of paper and laid them on the ground. He took another deep breath, readied his instrument and-”

The storyteller suddenly snapped his gaze to the brightening sky. “Oh,” he said, “I should get going soon, I’ve stayed out far too late.” The magic in the area dispersed, taking the leaves and the strange wind with it. The boy put his instrument back in the place that didn’t exist. 

“What!” Jack jumped up in outrage. “But you didn’t even finish the story! What happened, how did the boy do?” 

“Pretty well, apparently,” Jack barely heard the boy’s murmur. “Look, I really must be going. The end will come another time.” 

“We’ll see each other again then?” Jack asked hopefully, almost whining like a child. 

“If you want to see me again. I can keep my eye out for you.” 

“I’d like that. Oh! Wait, what’s your name? Mine’s Jack.” 

The boy stood up, dusting the snow off his rear. He faced Jack with a smile one more time. “Nice to meet you Jack, I’m Kubo.” 

And in the blink of an eye, he was gone. 

**Author's Note:**

> And there you have it. The first word spoken by a character in this fic. “Shit.” Ah, I truly am a savant. 
> 
> “old lady leaves” “No story with a fire-breathing chicken in it has ever failed before” what the hell am I even writing.


End file.
